


5 Times Sulu Had Feelings for the Captain, and 1 Time He Learned It Was Mutual

by takethesky87



Category: Star Trek (2009), Torchwood
Genre: 5+1 Things, Crossover Pairings, M/M, botany saves the day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:59:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethesky87/pseuds/takethesky87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He looks behind his shoulder and catches the eye of the captain—beams at him, triumphantly and probably ridiculously, his emotions dangling off the precipice of self-control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Times Sulu Had Feelings for the Captain, and 1 Time He Learned It Was Mutual

**Author's Note:**

> The Torchwood crossover is there, but it's tiny. Also, the mature rating really only applies to part 4. Story originally written in August 2009.

**1.**  
He is exhausted, bruised. Mentally fried, and not just from the nerves of fucking up his first jump to warp aboard the Enterprise. Adrenaline is still pumping through his blood, the ghostly white-blue of the decimated warp core blooming behind them now. He looks behind his shoulder and catches the eye of the captain—beams at him, triumphantly and probably ridiculously, his emotions dangling off the precipice of self-control.

Kirk grins back, eyes alight. Muscles still aching from clutching the captain as though (in fact, _because_ ) their lives depended on it, Hikaru remembers the way Kirk had _looked_ at him in that last moment in the sky, when they thought they were done for. He swivels his chair back to his console and convinces himself that the lightness in his stomach is the adrenaline’s doing.

 

 **2.**  
Often, on the days when many of their shifts end around the same time, they all regroup in the mess hall to eat dinner together, taking over one of the wide circular tables near the wall-length windows. Tonight, the table started out pretty full but is mostly empty now—it’s been a tiring day, what with the botched away mission and transporter difficulties that almost stranded Kirk and Spock on the planet. Many of them have gone to bed early, leaving just Hikaru, Scotty, and Chekov scattered around the table. Soon Chekov is gone too, and Hikaru and Scotty find themselves chatting idly until Kirk shows up a few minutes later.

After a quick smile in Scotty’s direction, Kirk slides into the chair next to Hikaru, where Chekov had been. Hikaru looks around at the half-dozen empty chairs and at lonely Scotty sitting across from them, but says nothing.

“Looks like I missed the crowds, huh?” Kirk says.

“Been one of those days, aye,” Scotty replies, emptying his glass. “I hate to say it, but I’m fadin’ fast, too. Hope you don’t mind if I head out, Captain?”

Kirk waves his hand between bites. “Don’t let me keep you, Scotty. See you tomorrow.”

“Good night,” Hikaru adds.

Scotty cleans up his tray and departs. Hikaru feels about ready to pass out himself, but Kirk is maybe three bites into his dinner, and it seems wrong to leave the captain here to eat alone. So instead, he lifts his fork and picks at the crumbs left on his plate, trying to think of something to say.

Kirk beats him to it. “So, how’ve you been, Sulu? Done any sword-fighting lately?”

Hikaru blinks and looks up. Kirk’s head is tilted toward him, a grin playing around his eyes and mouth as he chews. Hikaru chuckles. “No, sir, not lately.”

“Hey.” Kirk elbows Hikaru playfully in the arm. “No ‘sirs’ off-duty.” He shovels a forkful into his mouth. “Jim’s fine.”

“Of course, sir,” Hikaru says. When Kirk responds with another sly grin, Hikaru smiles back, feeling like he’s fifteen again.

The next day, after Kirk asks Lieutenant Leslie to call him Jim—elbow nudge and all—Hikaru’s chest deflates a little.

 

 **3.**  
Their guest, Hikaru observes, could easily be a long lost relative (or future one, if his story is to be believed) of Kirk: shamelessly flirty, equipped with an easy sense of humor, and willing to give his life for the people that matter most to him. The last few days have been an interesting study of Kirk’s character, watching him react to a man very much like himself—a fascinating and often amusing experience. Hikaru is admittedly a little sad to see him go.

The man looks around the bridge, a wistful expression about his eyes, before turning at last to Kirk, who stands next to him. Hikaru watches them out of the corner of his eye, as does most of the crew.

“Don’t be a stranger, Jack,” Kirk says. Jack only smiles sadly at the captain. Then, cupping his hand to Kirk’s neck, Jack kisses him. Uhura exhales loudly and rolls her eyes—she has not liked Jack from the start—but Hikaru hastily turns away, suddenly feeling self-conscious. He glances at Chekov, who doesn’t seem particularly shocked, and sends him a questioning look. When Jack and Kirk have left for the transporter room, Chekov leans over and says, “You have not known about them?”

“’Them’?” Hikaru feels his chest prickle. Really, he shouldn’t be surprised—why _wouldn’t_ Kirk shack up with someone who is basically himself—but nonetheless, he frowns.

“Yes. Are you okay?” Chekov asks softly.

The words spill out more tersely than he intends. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Chekov shrugs. When Kirk returns to the bridge, he clears his throat and settles into his chair. “Take us out, Mr. Sulu.”

“Aye, captain.” He doesn’t turn around, just sets the coordinates as usual, but can feel eyes boring into the back of his head. After hesitating, he glances back, but the captain is immersed in his PADD. Hikaru returns to the console, sending the ship into warp.

 

 **4.**  
“Jesus,” Jim says as Hikaru leans into him further, Hikaru’s palms pressed to the wall. The harsh lights in his quarters glance off the sheen over Jim’s face, the latter’s mouth unhinged and eyes half-closed as Hikaru’s lips travel across his collarbone and up his neck. He grabs a fistful of Jim’s hair and pulls the man’s head forward, their mouths opening to each other, Hikaru’s free hand creeping up beneath Jim’s undershirt.

A moan rattles in Jim’s throat. “Fuck me,” he rasps, and Hikaru’s hands dip to unhook Jim’s belt, Jim’s shallow breaths hot across Hikaru’s temple—

He blinks awake. Sweat dampens his forehead, the bed sheets twisted at his feet. Humiliated, he closes his eyes—and snaps them back open, startled by the vivid images burned into his eyelids. Great. Just great. For a long moment he can only stare at the dark ceiling, listening to his pulse in his ears.

Later, on the bridge, the captain claps him on the back and says, “You okay there, Sulu? You look a little flushed.”

“Fine, sir,” he mumbles.

 

 **5.**  
He has never seen the captain so pale, his skin nearly translucent in the chinks of sun squeezing through the dense canopy. The two-pronged spider bite on his neck has swollen to the size of a tangerine, puffy and green. McCoy kneels next to Kirk, hands busily checking pulse and breathing and body temperature.

“I’m fine,” Kirk coughs, fidgeting against the tree trunk he’s propped beside.

“Like hell you are.” McCoy places a firm hand on Kirk’s shoulder. “Stop _squirming_ , Jim. Listen, you’re going to start feeling a burning sensation in your fingers, and the headache’s going to get worse—“

“I’ve noticed,” Kirk says, scrunching up his face.

“—but in a few minutes the pain should start to subside, as the venom hits your nerve endings.”

Kirk opens one eye far enough to raise an eyebrow at McCoy. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”

McCoy only scowls. He looks at Hikaru. “Any luck?”

Hikaru shakes his head. “Communicators still aren’t working. You said it was a Burnegian yellow-back spider?”

“Yeah, and I’d have an antidote if I just had my damn…” He gestures bitterly at the nonexistent medkit, which the natives had confiscated from them a few hours ago.

Hikaru checks his tricorder again. “There’s a _salaecytus nivorus_ plant about twenty meters northeast of here. That should work at least as a temporary antidote, shouldn’t it?”

McCoy considers him. “For a yellow-back bite? It’s risky, at best. Too much of it could kill him.”

“I can calculate the right dosage.” At the cock of McCoy’s eyebrow, Hikaru adds, “I wrote a paper about it once, for a botany class.”

McCoy’s brow rises even higher. Kirk makes a garbled noise, and they look at him. “Someone go get the damn plant already,” he slurs. Hikaru nods, and after exchanging a quick glance with McCoy, he heads northeast.

The plant is a blue-leafed, lime-flowered vine that crawls up the tree Hikaru has approached, its stem as thick as his forearm. He wraps one hand in his sleeve, grips the vine, and with his other hand uses his phaser to slice off a sizable chunk. A fluorescent goo begins to ooze from either end; he holds the section of vine in a U shape to keep as much of it from leaking as possible, then hurries back to Kirk and McCoy.

Once he reaches them he drops to his knees at Kirk’s side. The neck bite has ballooned in just the few minutes Hikaru has been gone; Kirk’s eyes are closed, his mouth open slightly. Hikaru looks hesitantly at McCoy. “Ready?”

McCoy nods. He holds Kirk’s shoulders against the tree. Hikaru squeezes some of the goo onto the wound, where it sizzles. “Fuugh,” Kirk groans while McCoy struggles to keep him put.

“Sorry, Captain.” Hikaru repositions the piece of vine over Kirk’s mouth. “This probably won’t taste very good.”

Kirk gurgles something unintelligible. Hikaru eyes McCoy. “He said he can’t taste anything anyway,” McCoy says. “Jim, just make sure you swallow.”

Kirk manages a snicker. “Thaz wha’ _he_ sa—”

“Oh, shut it.” McCoy digs his hands deeper into Kirk’s shoulders. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Sulu,” he mutters.

Hikaru takes a breath. Slowly, he pours the fluorescent paste into Kirk’s mouth, eyes fixed on the slime. Kirk gags, coughs, but eventually the goo makes its way down. When Hikaru judges that he’s given him enough, he leans back on his knees. McCoy props Kirk’s head, patting him roughly on the back, as Kirk’s shallow breaths become stronger.

Hikaru tosses the shriveled vine to the dirt. The swelling on Kirk’s neck has already diminished dramatically, and color is coming back to his skin. Kirk looks at them groggily. “Let’s not do that again.”

“Agreed.” McCoy starts checking his vitals. “You’re gonna feel out of it for a while still, but otherwise you should be fine until we get you to sick bay.”

Hikaru moves to stand. Kirk’s hand catches him first, groping fingers missing Hikaru’s shoulder and finding his cheek instead.

Hikaru freezes. Bleary eyes meet his. “Thanks, Sulu.”

The captain’s hand is cold. Hikaru lifts his own hand and places it over Kirk’s, resting it there for a moment before pulling Kirk’s fingers away. Kirk’s face relaxes into a faint smile. Hikaru isn’t sure what to make of that, only knows that his own face must be bright red by now. He fumbles with his tricorder and tries to ignore the look McCoy is giving him.

“You’re welcome, Captain.”

 

 **+1.**  
He is just a few steps behind Kirk, running for his life, when the gunfire catches up with them. A bullet whizzes past Hikaru’s ear and he dodges left, twisting to fire his phaser and hitting one of their pursuers in the chest. “Scotty,” he hears Kirk shout ahead of him, “tell me you’re ready to beam us out of here?”

“Workin’ on it, Captain,” Scotty’s voice crackles through the communicator, “just a few more minutes—”

“We don’t _have_ a few more minutes, Scotty!” Kirk’s phaser beam streaks past Hikaru, and the two of them careen to their right down another street. Hikaru glances back again—one guy is in sight, the rest still around the corner—and as he aims his phaser, a bullet grazes his torso. Suddenly the bullet’s owner cries out, another phaser blast knocking him down, and before Hikaru can react he is being yanked to the side, falling backwards into Kirk. Kirk hauls Hikaru upright, and Hikaru looks around; they’re in the doorway to one of the stainless steel buildings lining the street, and when they lunge through the threshold they find themselves inside a dark, cramped hallway. Hikaru shuts the door.

“Are you hurt?”

Kirk’s face is barely visible in the thick darkness. Hikaru shakes his head. “The bullet just grazed my shirt. I’m fine.”

The shouts grow louder outside. Kirk flattens against the wall adjacent to the door, grabbing Hikaru by the waist and pulling him closer. “Quiet,” he hisses. Neither of them moves. Kirk’s head is turned toward the door, listening; Hikaru is squeezed against him, praying to every deity he can think of that Kirk doesn’t feel his arousal. Both their chests heave with breathlessness.

The noises outside pass by the door and begin to fade away in the other direction, and Hikaru feels Kirk relax a bit beneath him. His head turns back; their eyes connect. Hikaru can hear nothing but the hush of their breaths and his own heartbeat. He moves to step back, but Kirk holds him there, his expression inscrutable. Then Kirk kisses him.

When Hikaru next opens his eyes, he and Kirk are standing beneath the bright lights of the transporter room. Kirk is still gripping Hikaru’s waist, and their foreheads are pressed together, slick with sweat. Hikaru adjusts a little and sees Scotty and Lieutenant Leslie staring at them.

Kirk sighs. “Perfect timing as always, Mr. Scott.”

“Er.” Scotty scratches the back of his head. “Sorry, Captain.”

By the time a few minutes have gone by, Scotty and Leslie have found a reason to be decidedly elsewhere, and Kirk and Hikaru are alone in the room once more. Hikaru lifts his head. For the life of him, he cannot figure out what those sharp, clear eyes are thinking. He means to say something rational, to stress that this was all the adrenaline’s doing, a heat-of-the-moment thing—that when they leave this room he will of course forget anything ever happened and go on with life as usual.

Instead, he kisses Kirk again.

And when Kirk kisses back, completely, Hikaru remembers the howl of wind, the spinning blue sky, the ground rushing upward to meet him. He is freefalling without a parachute, and Jim is here with him, and this time it’s such a relief.


End file.
